Torrents
hammering
on our heads
we run from yellow cab one to classy showbiz restaurant
Torrents
along gutters
across roads
shoe-wetting
sock-soaking
trouser-splashing
torrents
streams
rivers
of rain
in unexpected lunchtime cloudburst
in busy downtown Manhattan
Yellow cab two
that evening
Three guys crammed on back seat
willing the driver
beyond mugger-proof barrier
break free break free
from snailspace traffic chaos
caused by flooding
determined to reach the theatre
for which we have three tickets
complimentary
Paid
yellow cab makes off
But our theatre is
"Closed due to flooding"
and we
are in the middle of black Harlem
not a good place
for three young white men
in the early 1970s
even if we are liberals
and supporters of black freedom
black equality
even black power
The streets are deserted
No cabs
The streets are deserted
No people
Fortunately
As we stride out
Hurrying
but trying not to look as though we are hurrying
Scared
but trying not to look as though we are scared
Talking of other subjects
to stop from feeling scared
Looking round for signs of danger
but trying to look unconcerned
Down the long road
that seems never ending
towards the nearest Metro station
We aren't scared, are we?
Why should we be?
We aren't pigs, rednecks, oppressors, exploiters
But do they know that?
The few people on the platform
do not approach
but we feel safer
only when the multi-ethnic multi-coloured graffiti-covered train
draws in
and we are on it
pleased to see
the macho-looking cop stride through
gun on hip
there to deter
crime and violence
in the city of crime and violence
himself a symbol of pigdom and white oppression
to those who feel oppressed
Sharing Chinese meal
laughter just a little shrill
we retell for our now amusement
or relief
the tale of our escape from Harlem
Without sounding prejudiced, of course.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem